


Buy Me A Boat

by E_Greer



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel
Genre: Appalachia, Comfort No Hurt, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Married Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Minor Avengers Team, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Not Canon Compliant, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers gets paid, Steve takes Bucky shopping, Sugar Daddy Steve Rogers, Team as Family, industrial grade fluff, the softest recovery fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29570781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_Greer/pseuds/E_Greer
Summary: for Nos
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Kudos: 41





	Buy Me A Boat

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Stucky energy of the two gentleman with the boat,  
> [here.](https://www.washingtonpost.com/photography/2020/09/28/loving-a-photographic-history-of-men-in-love/)

**Chapter 1: Buy Me a Boat**

  
[Buy Me a Boat by Chris Janson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mQPjKSVe1tQ)

Standing in his kitchen, Steve opened the official looking envelope from the Veteran’s Administration. It was thin and he’d almost thrown it away, thinking it was yet another notification of some small bureaucratic change he’d never use. The sheer amount of junk mail to his address had been annoying as hell.

A single sheet of folded paper slid out of the envelope. Steve unfolded it and stared. It was a stub for a payment from the US Treasury, direct deposited to his checking account.

_Pay to the order of Steven Grant Rogers ………. $2,273,941_

His face felt hot and he heard a buzzing in his ears. Reaching for a kitchen table chair, he sat down heavily, unable to look away from the deposit slip.

“Hey, pal. What’s wrong?”

Steve looked up to see Bucky leaning against the wall at the opening to the kitchen. Long rays of light from the afternoon sun illuminated the silver gray of his eyes, giving them an otherworldly air. Bucky really was unfairly beautiful, thought Steve.

“Uh…” Steve held up the sheet of paper.

As Bucky straightened and strode forward, the poise of his movements dried up any words Steve might have used. Even if he had circles under his eyes that resembled the dark side of the moon and enough stubble to almost be a beard, Bucky embodied deadly grace. Steve wanted to lick him.

Bucky took the paper from Steve and quickly scanned the few words. “What the hell is this?”

Steve swallowed hard. “My back pay, I think.”

Dark lashes lifted to meet Steve’s gaze. “You got back pay?”

“I think you will, too.”

“Huh.”

Bucky sat down in the chair, still re-reading the slip of paper. His brows knit and Steve bit his tongue.

For two boys who’d grown up dirt poor in Brooklyn, two million dollars was an unimaginable amount of money. Steve knew, of course, that it wasn’t the same now. He’d become adept at calculating the rate of inflation, and in 1936 dollars, it was about $100,000. That was still about seventy times what his ma had made as a nurse. By any standard, he was rich. If he and Bucky put that in percents, they would never have to work again.

Suddenly he wanted that, wanted to take Bucky away and give him peace that would never be his here in Avengers Tower. Every time the alert rang for the Avengers to assemble, Bucky flinched. Nobody but Steve or Jarvis could pick up on it, but Bucky’s pain was a poison dart, spreading through Steve’s veins on every mission. Steve knew that he had become increasingly reckless, desperate to get home and soothe Bucky, let him know that everything was alright.

Inhaling deeply through his nose, Steve closed his eyes and tipped back in his chair, easily balancing on two legs. The HVAC kicked on and Bucky’s heart sped up, the sound discordant in Steve’s ears. Sorrow welled up in Steve’s heart. Bucky was deeply uncomfortable in the Tower, but Steve didn’t know what else to do.

Pepper and Tony had been so generous with them, giving them a home in the Tower and fighting for Bucky in the Accords. Pepper had brought the full might of SI to bear on Bucky’s status as a POW. God himself would flinch from Pepper Potts on a tear and the US government had stood no chance. The back pay was due to Pepper’s efforts, no doubt.

Tony had been equally helpful, though he’d couched removing the trackers, drug injectors, and other nasty business in the arm as merely an intellectual exercise. (“Let’s upgrade this, Barnes. You’re old tech now.”) When Tony was finished, the only person who could track Bucky was Jarvis—Tony had even locked himself out of the software, to assure Bucky’s privacy.

The drug withdrawals had been hell. Even now, Bucky was subject to random bouts of full body shakes and hours long lowered core temperatures, as if his body hadn’t quite figured that he was out of cryo. Bruce had been at his wits end. Steve had been reduced to pacing as Bucky had spent hours in endless hot showers, unable to tolerate the benzos that were the modern standard of care. The one time a doctor had hesitantly suggested massage therapy Bucky had growled, actually growled. Steve had barely restrained himself from picking the man up and tossing him out the door. Nobody was touching Bucky without his full consent. And that included Steve, even if they were married now.

Later that evening, Steve and Bucky snuggled on the extra long sofa, Steve cradling Bucky on his chest as they flipped through their Netflix queue in their darkened living room. _Tiny Houses_ came up and Bucky sat up a little straighter. That was enough for Steve to press play. Bucky was physically incapable of expressing a preference verbally or otherwise. Hydra hadn’t exactly been interested in an asset with an opinion and had ground out his desires with extreme prejudice. He’d been trying to work on expressing his own wishes in therapy, but some mental grooves were harder to overcome than others.

As Bucky watched the show, Steve watched him by the light of the city that never slept. Situational awareness was good for more than tracking all the exits. Since Bucky never asked for anything, Steve kept close track of how Bucky reacted to things and had been known to one-click on his phone while Bucky rested next to him, oblivious. On this episode, the throaty roar of a jacked up Toyota Tacoma caught Bucky’s attention. This one was cherry red, with a double cab and a full-length truck bed.

Steve narrowed his eyes, thinking. Modern cars weren’t any cheaper than they had been, but he could afford one now. He eyed the truck on the screen, noting the locking camper shell and the extra ground clearance. With an extra 3”, Bucky could clear some serious rubble on damaged city streets. A roof rack would add extra storage for emergency gear.

Perhaps the best part would be the ability to sit comfortably in the cab of the pickup truck. Steve was all for saving the planet and fuel efficiency, but he often felt like he was sitting in a clown car, with his knees by his ears. Bucky was a little shorter, but just as broad. They’d quietly agreed that they’d do pretty much anything to avoid being stuck in the back of Natasha’s sports car.

Quietly, he picked up his phone and texted Jarvis. _Can you order a truck for me?_

_Certainly, Captain Rogers._

Another episode had started by the time he and Jarvis had nailed down all the details, but the truck would be parked in the Tower garage first thing in the morning. Between the Stark name and Steve’s bank account, there was very little that couldn’t happen.

“You ever think of getting a boat?”

Guiltily, Steve glanced at the TV. This episode featured someone floating on a lake on a pontoon boat, lazing in the afternoon sunshine. As the days got lengthened that spring, Steve had felt an almost primal need to be outside, dragging his runs out. With a slight shock, he realized that Bucky almost never left the Tower, never got outside.

“Mm, not recently. Not since we were kids.”

Bucky looked up, his eyes wide with blank curiosity. Fuck, there was another memory lost. Bruce had warned him that the procedure to erase the trigger words wasn’t exact, would have side effects. Fucking Hydra.

“The summer you were eleven, we decided that we were going to run away from home and live on a boat. We’d just finished _The Adventures of Swiss Family Robinson_ and thought it sounded grand.”

Steve chuckled at the memory. They’d plotted all summer but when school had opened, they’d obediently filed back to school. Or, at least, Bucky had gone. Steve had come down with another bout of pneumonia.

Bucky sighed and wiggled a bit, getting comfortable against Steve’s chest. “Maybe eleven-year-old me had a good idea.”

Steve dropped a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head and plotted. A pick-up truck could haul a boat, no problem. A few more taps on his phone and Steve was the new owner of a fixer-upper wooden rowboat, to be delivered to the Tower at the same time as his new pickup truck.

Bucky had always been good with his hands. This might be just what the therapist had ordered.

  
  
**Chapter 2: Summertime**

[Kenny Chesney - Summertime](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BWSn0JFRiPI)

In the early morning, just as the rosy glow of the false dawn had brightened the night sky, Steve had eased himself out of the king-sized bed he shared with Bucky. Without Steve there to guard his back, Bucky automatically tightened into the fetal position, burrowing under the blankets until only his dark curls peeked out.

That reflex hurt Steve’s heart every time.

Instead of climbing back into bed, he steeled himself to walking away, into their bathroom. It was almost the size of their apartment back in Brooklyn, with a separate shower big enough for an orgy, a bathtub that could double as swimming pool, and twin vanities. Size wasn’t everything though, because Steve’s favorite part was the heated floor. No more cold feet in the morning.

Steve had laid out his running clothes the night before, his track pants and tee folded neatly on his side of the vanity. After their time in the Army, neither of them could abide mess or dirt. They’d spent enough time downrange to appreciate floors clean enough to eat off of, properly polished fixtures, and luxuries like infinite hot water.

Quickly, Steve shaved, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair before getting dressed and slipping out the door. He’d grab coffee and bagel downstairs. A full breakfast would come after he worked out, with Bucky.

Down the basement, he found Stark in a full-blown tizzy.

“Steve! Why would you do this to me?”

“Do what?”

Stark gestured wildly. “Buy this! This piece of junk! And store it next to my beauties!”

Steve followed his hand and noticed the beat up wooden rowboat had been delivered already. “It’s for Bucky.”

Stark eyed him suspiciously. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Steve grinned. “He’ll love it.”

“And why is that?”

“We’re going to run away from home.”

Heels tapped on the floor behind him and he turned to find Pepper making her way towards them. Impeccably dressed as always, she was clearly on her way to work. A steaming mug of coffee was in one hand, her suit jacket over her arm. Her purse was slung over her other shoulder.

Pepper smiled as she spoke, clearly amused. “Morning, Steve. What’s this I hear about you running away from home?”

Resolve solidified in Steve’s chest. He’d been half-joking, thinking of their childish summer plans, but now Steve thought it would be good for Bucky. He’d been willing to burn down the world for Bucky—running away for the summer seemed minor in comparison.

“I was thinking about taking Bucky away for the summer. Just the two of us. Do a little boating, a little swimming. Some fishing. That kind of thing.”

Pepper glanced at Tony. He raised his eyebrows and narrowed his eyes. Pepper tilted her head and elegantly shrugged one shoulder. In response, he dipped his chin and quirked a grin.

Steve watched their silent conversation in bemusement. He’d rarely met a couple as well-suited as Tony and Pepper. With the ease of a long-term partnership, they worked with each other, complementing each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Steve aspired for his marriage to Bucky to be as strong as theirs.

Their conversation finished, Pepper turned to Steve, eyes crinkled with amusement. “I think I know just the place. As it turns out, we keep a place in the mountains, by a lake. It’s not much—just a little A-frame cabin with a loft bed—but it’s very private.”

“Private sounds good. Are you sure?”

Steve didn’t want to impose. They’d already been so generous.

“Yes, we’re sure. Jarvis?”

“Yes, Ms. Potts?”

“Send Steve the address for the lake cabin, please.”

“Yes, Ms. Potts.”

Slipping past Steve, she leaned her head on Tony’s shoulder and inhaled for just a second before straightening her spine and turning to Steve.

“Stay as long as you like.”

Snorting, Steve acquiesced, his tone dry. “Thanks, Pepper. Tony.”

Next to her, Tony shuddered. “Take Terminator and go. I don’t want to see you back before autumn. His puppy dog eyes are giving me nightmares.”

Turning his back on them both, Tony began muttering about ungrateful louts as he grabbed a wrench and began fussing with his Pontiac GTO.

Pepper touched Steve’s shoulder. “I’ve got to run, Steve. But truly, stay as long as you like. If they need you, I’m sure they’ll come get you. Natasha knows where it is.”

With a quick squeeze, Pepper headed back into the elevator and Steve headed out for his run.

\----

Back upstairs, truck keys in hand, Steve cleaned up from his run and headed into the bedroom. As expected, Bucky was still swaddled in their oversized comforter.

Carefully, Steve made his way to Bucky’s blanket burrito, lifting the blankets just enough to slide under them, pressing himself against the curve of his beloved’s back. Tucking the blankets back around them, he nuzzled against the tangle of Bucky’s long curls. He took every opportunity to breathe Bucky in, as if he could somehow make up for all the time they’d spent apart, nurse the scars on his heart with scent.

Each morning he could snuggle with Bucky was a gift he wasn’t willing to waste. Steve reached out and pulled Bucky gently against him, prompting him to relax into Steve’s warmth, unfolding his limbs. Inevitably, a curl of desire licked its way up Steve’s spine but he restrained himself. He was a goddamn adult and he wasn’t going to push for anything Bucky didn’t want.

“Nngh.”

A morning person Bucky was not. Steve grinned against the back of Bucky’s neck and placed a chaste kiss on his spine.

“Morning, sweetheart. I got you a present!”

Bucky pushed back against Steve, trying to burrow against him. “Pres’nt?”

“Mmhmm. But you need to eat breakfast first, ‘kay?”

Food was hard for Bucky, after decades of cry and feeding tubes and smoothies and IV nutrition. Shamelessly, Steve bribed him to eat at every opportunity. Bribes ranged from kisses to gifts, although the car might be a little excessive.

“Urgh.”

“Please, baby? Just some toast and tea?”

With a definite pout, Bucky rolled over and rubbed his nose against the hollow of Steve’s throat, for all the world like a kitten. Helplessly, a laugh bubbled out of Steve.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s eat. Natasha brought us some varenya.”

Bucky heaved an enormous sigh. “Fine.”

Under his hand, Steve felt the muscles in Bucky’s back tense as he used his core muscles to sit upright, visible goose bumps forming on his skin in the cool air. Even after Stark’s upgrade, the metal that had been grafted to Bucky’s bones to support the arm easily added an extra hundred pounds to his frame. Bucky worked out every day not just to keep up with Steve, but also ensure he could support the weight of all that metal.

“Here, hon. Let’s wrap you up again.”

Rolling out of bed, Steve grabbed the plush fleece bathrobe that had been Pepper’s holiday gift to Bucky. The dark gray set off his eyes. Holding it open, Steve tucked Bucky into the robe and tied it closed with the accompanying sash. Powerless to resist, Steve kissed Bucky’s forehead before patting him on the ass.

“Let’s get you fed, sweetheart.”

Steve wasn’t a fancy cook by any means, but he could manage toast and eggs without too much trouble. After placing the scrambled eggs and toast in front of Bucky, who had curled up in the chair at the kitchen table and looked half-asleep, he went back for orange juice and the varenya. A fruit compote, this batch appeared to be made with peaches.

Steve sat quietly and ate his own breakfast while he waited for Bucky to wake up enough to notice the truck keys on the table. It didn’t take long.

“Doll?”

“Mmm?”

“Somebody forget their car keys?”

“Nope.”

Steve may have been a little smug. Bucky looked up from his careful application of fruit to toast.

“Whaddya mean?”

Steve grinned. “Told you I got you a present, didn’t I?”

“Steven Grant Rogers!”

Bucky threw up his hands. “You can’t just buy me a car!”

“I didn’t!”

Exasperated, Bucky snapped, “You just said you got me a present!”

Laughing, Steve replied, “I never said it was a car.”

Low-voiced, Bucky looked him in the eye. “Stevie.”

Shifting in his seat—that tone of voice did things to Steve’s insides—Steve stopped teasing. “I bought you a truck. And a summer project.”

“Oh.”

Bucky started to speak several times and then visibly bit back each response. Finally, he said, “I suppose I can’t complain about the money, given your back pay.”

Softly, Steve answered, “No, sweetheart. We can afford it. It’s all signed, sealed, and delivered, waiting for us in the garage. But, also …”

He trailed off, unsure how to bring up the idea of a summer away without making Bucky feel pressured into it.

Bucky eyed him knowingly. “Just spit it out.”

“Well, uh, while I was there, Pepper and Tony offered us their cabin in the mountains for the summer. I mean, it’s not mandatory. Just an idea.”

For answer, Bucky stood and moved to Steve who automatically leaned back and opened his arms. Bucky settled in his lap, chest to chest, wrapping his arms around Steve. Steve closed his eyes and began offering dainty little kisses all along Bucky’s jaw. This was what he lived for, this closeness and warmth, Bucky in his arms.

Quietly, Bucky whispered against his face. “A summer away seems like a happy dream.”

Tightening his arms around Bucky, Steve wiggled until their lips met and lost himself in kissing his husband.

  
**Chapter 3: Down in the Valley**   
  


[Brad Paisley - Water](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1AHnQtY1bg4)

Night had fallen before they’d arrived last night, Bucky growing increasingly silent as they’d driven. While the deluxe truck was as comfortable as possible, long drives were still exhausting, especially for Bucky. The doctors had explained to Steve that in a very real sense, Bucky was recovering from years of illness.

Fucking Hydra certainly hadn’t been concerned with Bucky’s health, pumping him full of drugs to keep him going just like they wanted, wasting no time or effort on healing his wounds or feeding him properly. His body was recovering from prolonged sleep deprivation and malnutrition, just as his mind was recovering from years of scarring.

When they’d been children, TB sanatoriums had been widespread, with the idea that fresh air in nature and good nutrition would help TB patients recover. Steve knew that antibiotics had put paid to that idea, but he couldn’t help but think that this summer might help Bucky heal in both body and mind.

They were certainly far enough from any kind of distraction.

Steve had expected the interstate to slim down to a four lane once they were out of the city. At first, he’d put on some music and relaxed into easy conversation with Bucky. By their third hour in the truck, Bucky had been shifting in discomfort, so minutely that Steve wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been attuned to Bucky’s needs.

Pulling over at a rest stop, they’d both taken the opportunity to use the concrete block facilities and then stretched their legs on the extensive lawn. Families with small children ate at picnic tables while dog walkers passed by. Steve had watched Bucky watching them and silently resolved to get Bucky a pet.

Back in the truck, Bucky had gulped down a lukewarm lime green sports drink and relaxed enough to slip into a quiet catnap. As soldiers, they’d both mastered the habit of napping whenever possible, knowing that they might not be able to sleep for days. Now that Bucky was safe with Steve, he was as likely as not to be napping. More than once Steve had glanced over to see that Bucky had fallen asleep in the middle of a book, TV show, or even a snack.

Pleased that Bucky had been comfortable enough to nap, Steve had put the lead down. Insufferable as always, Tony had used Jarvis to ensure the license plate gave Steve carte blanche to break traffic laws and Steve had taken advantage of it, pushing the V-6 engine with the wooden rowboat they’d hitched to the truck. Eventually, the countryside had changed to miles upon miles of green mountains, no buildings in sight.

Still they had driven onwards for hours before they’d reached their exit. Steve had stopped at the one business at the exit, a tiny, locally owned gas station, and filled up the gas tank. As he’d turned off the engine, Bucky had surfaced briefly, but had been soothed back to a light doze with a soft kiss and a whispered explanation. Steve had climbed out of the cab to see curious eyes peering at him from the dirty store window, but he’d ignored the teenager manning the register, instead paying at the pump.

Back on the two-lane road, he’d driven for another hour and half, winding their way through sinuous curves. A few modest homes had been scattered through the narrow valleys, but for the most part it had been all early spring deciduous forest, baby leaves glimmering the palest green in the late afternoon sunshine. The road had paced the slow, shallow river at the bottom of the valleys.

The GPS had flashed noiselessly, alerting Steve to turn off onto a one-lane road with no verge. Steve had silenced the GPS at the beginning of the trip, knowing that electric chirps set Bucky’s pulse to racing. Still, the chip and tar road had felt different in the cab and Bucky had roused, his muscles stiff from disuse.

One hand on the wheel, Steve had reached out to squeeze Bucky’s knee with the other. “OK there, sweetheart?”

A frown on his face, Bucky had looked out the window. “We’re pretty far out there, huh?”

“Not there yet. A few more miles, according to the GPS.”

“Mm.”

At that point, Bucky had begun systematically tensing and loosening his muscles, a way to stretch without moving. As a sniper, he’d learned all kinds of tricks to keep himself motionless for hours in his nest. If Steve hadn’t been watching for it, he would never have noticed.

As dusk had fallen, indecision had worried at his mind for another half hour. He had wanted to offer to stop so Bucky could get out of the truck, but there had been nowhere to stop on the narrow road. It had been cut into a steep hillside, running like a deer track over the curves of the hill. There had been no guardrails and Steve had been thankful they hadn’t run into anyone going the opposite direction. Just then the GPS had flashed again, indicating that they should turn off from the paved road down to a dirt track, the truck headlights illuminating grass growing through the middle of the path.

“Here?”

Bucky had sounded slightly incredulous and Steve couldn’t blame him. The way had run across a rickety wooden bridge that didn’t look strong enough to support the six tons of their fully loaded pickup truck. But Steve had bet that Tony had reinforced the bridge and so he had turned off, carefully maneuvering the boat behind them as they went down the curving path. The bet had paid off, with only a few creaks as the truck had crossed the bridge. Down further still, the path had petered out to the creek itself.

Steve had paused, slightly daunted by the prospect of driving his new vehicle through a tiny creek bed that was itself hemmed in by looming moss-covered boulders, as tall as the truck. Darkness had receded to the end of the rocky, curving creek bed, lit up by the halogen headlamps. There would barely be an inch of clearance on either side and he really hadn’t wanted to scratch up his brand new truck.

Next to him, Bucky had started snickering. “Scared, Stevie?”

Indignantly, Steve had responded, “Of course not!”

With that, he’d eased off the gas and delicately picked their way forward, every shifting rock under their wheels practically jarring them off the seats. Fortunately, it had been only a tenth of a mile or so before the path picked up again, and Steve had sighed with relief. Prematurely as it turned out, because they’d had to repeat the maneuver twice more before they’d pulled into a tiny gem of a valley and turned off the truck.

In front of them a narrow A-frame cabin had been lit up, golden light spilling from the windows.

“Jarvis, I presume that's your doing?”

A pause, the satellite delay kicking in before Jarvis had responded, “Yes, Captain. You two are the only individuals in a four mile radius.”

Steve had relaxed muscles he hadn’t realized he’d tensed. “Thanks, Jarvis.”

Reaching for Bucky’s hand, he gave it a squeeze, the pale moonlight lending his beloved an almost ethereal quality. His gray eyes had gleamed with delight as he’d unfastened his seatbelt and leaned across the truck cab to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek.

“Thank _you_ , sweetheart.”

Internally cursing his pale Irish skin, Steve had blushed with pleasure.

“Love you.”

After that, it had been a simple matter to grab their go bags and fumble their way into the little cabin. Pepper hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said it wasn’t much, by her and Tony’s standards.

Steve and Bucky had found it more than adequate, the instant hot water heater offering unlimited hot water in a generously sized shower for two. Steve had indulged in one of his favorite pastimes, washing Bucky’s long, dark curls, and brushing out the tangles with the leave in conditioner he’d found in a drawer. Once Steve had toweled Bucky dry to his satisfaction, he’d wrapped him in one of his own plaid flannel shirts. Spring nights were cooler in the mountains.

Upstairs in the loft, an electric mattress pad heater had warmed the bed for Bucky’s always achy shoulder. Before tucking Bucky in for the night, Steve had dug around in the well-appointed kitchen for some crackers and applesauce for a bedtime snack. Bucky always slept better when Steve fed him before bed, something easy on his delicate stomach.

Snuggled together in their warm nest, Steve had wrapped himself around Bucky and had been content.

In the morning, Steve stepped outside on the back porch and paused. A narrow valley extended before him, the bottom filled with a deep, dark lake. Mist rose from the lake in the cool morning air, shrouding the end of the valley from view. While it was daylight, the sun hadn’t yet risen high enough to crest the mountain and so the valley was all in shades of gray.

Bucky was still sleeping, curled up in the mound of soft blankets, but Steve had woken filled with a bubbling happiness. Fizzing energy filled his body and he struck out to the left where a narrow opening in the tree line betrayed a path.

As it turned out, the path led all the way around the lake, an easy dozen miles in the soft air. Steve inhaled deeply as he ran, lungs filling with the sharp green scent of early spring leaves. Underneath was the dark aroma of the humus on the forest floor and the lake itself offered a mineral tang to the air. On the north side of the older trees and rocks, white-green lichen grew with abandon, thicker than Steve had ever seen in the city. Birds sang in distant trees, while blue jays scolded him as he ran by.

Yes, this would be good for Bucky.

Back at the cabin, Steve had quickly rinsed off in the shower, knowing that he was waking Bucky with the noise. He’d set the electric kettle to heat while he was in the shower and now he cracked generous pieces of _Abuelita_ hot cocoa into the bottom of two enormous mugs before filling them partly with hot water and then whisking the chocolate cakes into a froth. After finding a can of condensed milk in an upper cabinet, he filled the mugs the rest of the way with the thick, sweet liquid.

Upstairs, Bucky was still under the blankets, but Steve knew that he was awake.

“Hot cocoa?”

Bucky rolled over and Steve’s heart skipped a beat. Bucky’s gray eyes were soft in the golden morning light, a red crease from a pillow crossed his cheek, and his unshaven jaw was covered with dark stubble. And at that moment, Steve thought Bucky was possibly the most beautiful thing on the planet.

“Gimme.”

Huffing a silent laugh, Steve handed over the hot chocolate and sat next to Bucky, quietly sipping his own.

A long, lazy summer stretched before them, full of mornings just like this.

  
  
**Chapter 4: Days of Gold**   
  


[Jake Owen - Days of Gold](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ggKe409_F4)

After he’d persuaded Bucky to eat some toast and jam, Steve had decided the next order of business was to set up the boat. As a fixer-upper, he thought it would probably need a good deal of work before it was ready for the lake. Bucky had seemed mildly interested in the idea, which Steve had taken to mean wildly enthusiastic.

Any strong emotions were difficult for Bucky these days. He didn’t trust himself, didn’t trust that what he felt was real. Some days, Steve knew, Bucky didn’t feel that he himself was real. Steve hoped that being outdoors in the sunshine, working at his own schedule, would help ground Bucky in the here and now.

To that end, Steve had gotten them both dressed in boots, jeans, and tees. Getting ready to work, Bucky had put his long hair up in a bun. Natasha had said that Bucky might never want to let someone near his throat with a sharp object again, and so far she’d been proven right. Steve didn’t mind in the slightest. Bucky’s long hair just made him itch to run his fingers through it.

Once they were both dressed and outdoors in the beauty that was a sunny spring morning, Steve snagged a couple of concrete blocks from the storage shed and lifted the rowboat onto them, setting it upside down. It was surprisingly light, only a hundred pounds or so.

Steve stepped back and looked at Bucky, who was eyeing the boat with an expression Steve hadn’t seen since before the war. Steve’s heart ached, thinking of all the things Bucky had given up, had suffered, just to keep Steve safe.

Bucky paced around the little rowboat, intent on examining the damage. Steve’s eyes traced the curve of his ass in those jeans as he bent over to more closely examine the bow stem.

“That’s fixable, I think.”

Although he felt like cheering, Steve stepped back and nodded, keeping silent. This wasn’t his project and he wasn’t going to tell Bucky what to do.

Bucky continued, “I think we’ll need some power tools, epoxy, and good wood.”

“Hmm.”

Still crouched by the end of the boat, Bucky glanced up from under his dark eyelashes and caught Steve checking out his ass. He grinned. “Need anything, sweetheart?”

Steve moved closer and bent down to kiss the exposed skin at the base of Bucky’s neck. “Only you, honey, only you.”

Bucky shivered, the plates in his arm rippling. Pleased with himself, Steve stood up. The morning sunshine glittered in Bucky’s hair, gold highlights seeming to catch each photon. Idly, Steve wondered what gold and diamonds would look like in Bucky’s hair.

Clearing his throat, he offered, “I think Tony probably keeps tools in stock, but I doubt he has marine grade epoxy. Want to go to the hardware store?”

Delivery was definitely not happening at the cabin. Aside from the fact that Steve wasn’t in any hurry to let people know someone was staying there, he didn’t think a delivery driver would brave the three creek crossings. That was assuming a local business even offered delivery, and given how far out in the countryside they were, that was a big assumption.

Audibly inhaling, Bucky stood and briefly closed his eyes before sighing in assent. “Sure.”

As they stepped up into the jacked up pickup truck, Steve thought of how much more comfortable the truck was than one of the low-slung sports cars that Tony and Natasha favored. Sure, the sports cars were faster, and fast was fine, but both he and Bucky had agreed that the visibility on the truck was superior. A pouch on the back of the passenger side bucket seat held the shield, just in case.

Just as Steve always felt more comfortable with the shield handy, Bucky felt safer with a small armory on his person. Lately, he’d whittled the arsenal down to a single boot knife and a concealed pistol, which Steve thought was great progress. Of course, the Tacoma had been fully stocked, with a safe built into the center console and another pullout safe underneath the rear bench seat. As far as Steve was concerned, he’d do whatever made Bucky feel safe.

They slowly made their way from the grassy track to the single lane road and then to the two lane road. Bucky had the window down, obviously enjoying the cool spring breeze on his face as they drove. A swell of emotion rose in Steve’s chest, and he braced the steering wheel with his knee for a moment and shifted around so that he could drive with one hand and hold Bucky’s metal hand with the other. Was there anything more perfect than driving down a country road and holding his husband’s hand?

A sign up ahead caught his eye and Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand.

“Hey babe, want to stop at the bait shop?”

Steve fully intended to do some fishing and he wasn’t in the mood to dig up worms. For that matter, he wasn’t entirely sure Tony had a regular fishing rod. He’d seen some very pricey fly fishing rods hanging in the storage building, but Steve wasn’t in the mood to put that much effort into fishing this summer. A normal rod and reel with a float and sinker would do just fine for him.

Bucky shrugged, which was enough for Steve to slow down and turn into the bait shop. A surprisingly big building with a faux stone front and an enormously ugly orange sign, the bait shop also advertised firearms, archery, hunting gear and shooting lanes. Steve raised an eyebrow and met Bucky’s smirk.

“Yeah, sure, get it out of your system, pal.”

At that, Bucky burst into rusty laughter. “Really, Steve? Tony would keel over if we bought something from here.”

“Good thing Tony doesn’t know. Right, Jarvis?”

A distinctly amused tone came from the speaker in the dash. “What Sir doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Inside, Steve stopped by the front door to take in the glory that was 4,000 square feet of pink camouflage t-shirts, stuffed and mounted deer heads, and oh, yes, fishing rods. Nodding to the teenager behind the cash register, Steve caught Bucky studiously not looking at the doorway to the firearm room.

Wrapping an arm around Bucky’s waist, he leaned down and whispered into his ear, “Go right ahead, sugar. Get whatever you want.”

Steve hadn’t quite become accustomed to the idea of paper plates and plastic silverware, but he figured anything they picked up here at a bait shop was the equivalent of paper plates. Cheap, disposable, and good enough for their summer visit. Bucky’s custom sniper rifle was in its own long box in the built-in gun safe back at the cabin, where Jarvis could guard it.

While Bucky perused the rest of the store, Steve checked out the fishing section. On a whim, he picked up the red, white, and blue striped tackle box, and proceeded to pick up enough hooks, floats, sinkers, swivels, and line to fill the box. In the next aisle, he took his time examining the rod and reel combos. They didn’t need anything fancy, just something to let them pretend they were fishing while they napped on the boat.

While he shopped, he kept an ear out for Bucky, but he didn’t hear him return. He felt the fingers running up his spine, though, and he tilted his head to see that Bucky had moved with all the deadly quiet of which he was capable. Though Bucky’s fingers were light on his back, his face gave nothing away.

“Everything OK?”

Bucky’s right shoulder lifted up a tiny bit, but his face gave nothing away, studiously neutral.

“We should go?”

Bucky tilted his head towards the cash register, which was consent enough for Steve. Busy with all the gear, Steve hadn’t really paid much attention to the teenager, beyond noting them as _not a threat_. Now, as he set his purchases on the counter, Steve noticed the trans pride flag on the kid’s t-shirt.

Nodding to the cashier, Steve introduced himself. “Steve Rogers. He/him.”

Their eyes widened and they audibly swallowed before introducing themselves. “Jesse Smith. He/him.”

“Nice to meet you, Jesse.”

Jesse glanced down at Steve’s left hand, where a thick gold ring shone under the fluorescent lights. “Did, uh, did your husband? Want to buy anything from the back room?”

Steve turned to look at Bucky, who’d automatically moved to his back and left, covering his six.

“Bucky?”

Bucky shrugged, a smooth roll of his shoulders, and Steve took it for the dismissal it was.

“We’re fine, thanks.”

Purchases completed, Steve tucked the tackle box and rods in the back of the truck, locking the camper top. Sliding back into the truck, he looked at Bucky, who had gone quiet.

“Everything OK?”

“Just tired.”

Steve nodded and reached for Bucky’s thigh, squeezing gently. Bucky tired easily these days and Steve had learned to be patient with his frequent naps.

“It’s another half hour to the hardware store. Long enough for a nap.”

In answer, Bucky slid down in the seat and leaned against the window, his eyes already fluttering shut. The delicate skin under his eyes was darkened with fatigue, grooves etching themselves beside his mouth. Steve hated that Bucky was always in pain, always tired.

Slowly, carefully, he backed out of the parking space, driving to allow Bucky to sleep as well as possible. The two-lane road twisted along the hillsides and Steve resisted the urge to sling the truck around the curves, instead braking and accelerating as smoothly as possible.

At the big box hardware store, they were in and out as fast as humanly possible. Neither of them were in the mood to chat with strangers. Luckily, the store had had acrylic marine varnish, brushes, and marine grade epoxy in stock. Now Bucky had everything he needed for his project.

Back at the cabin, Steve nodded to the cabin. “Go on in, hon. I’ll unload this stuff and be right in.”

Bucky just nodded, which was how Steve knew he was drained. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to drive all day yesterday and then hop back in the truck. Sighing, he watched Bucky walk through the golden afternoon sunshine before retrieving the tackle box and putting it on the workbench in the storage shed, next to the repair materials.

His stomach growled and Steve realized they’d skipped lunch. There hadn’t been a whole lot at the cabin, but Steve and Bucky had brought enough groceries for a couple weeks. Tuna fish sandwiches, he thought.

Stopping short at the doorway to the cabin, he watched greedily as Bucky pulled off his shirt. His metal arm shone in the spill of light from the window, highlighting the muscles in his back. Bucky peeked back over his shoulder, his eyes twinkling, and Steve thought that maybe lunch could wait.

  
**Chapter 5: It's a Real Good Life in the Backwoods**

A bead of sweat ran down Bucky’s temple and Steve wanted to lick it off. Instead, he sat back in the Adirondack chair and tried to remember how sketching worked.

Unsuccessfully.

Every morning, Bucky worked on the rowboat for a couple of hours and every morning, Steve watched the grace and beauty of his husband at work. Ostensibly, Steve was sketching, but the only art he managed to produce was half-completed pieces of the lines of the muscles in Bucky’s back, the arch of his spine as he dragged the paint scraper down the hull, or the flex of his hands as he wiped down the wood with a cleaning rag.

As the summer progressed, Bucky took to wearing less clothing for his morning work session. When they’d arrived, a long-sleeve tee and jeans had been comfortable in the cool mountain air. Gradually, Bucky had exchanged the long-sleeved tee for a short-sleeve tee, and then a sleeveless undershirt.

Steve had nearly swallowed his tongue the first day he’d watched the flexing of the deltoids in Bucky’s shoulder.

For the last week or so, Bucky had foregone even that skimpy layer, his entire torso on display. Darker than Steve’s milk-white Irish skin, he’d tanned that first day. Since he didn’t heal quite like Steve, the tan had only darkened as the week went on. In contrast, the weeks of bright sun had brought out the red-gold highlights in his dark hair, lightening it to a rich mahogany. Steve mourned the hasty packing that had left his oil pastels back in the Tower.

That morning, Steve had found Bucky with a tactical knife and his rattiest pair of jeans, irreparably paint stained. Bucky had been sawing away at the legs and Steve’s heart had skipped a beat at the thought of watching all that skin on display.

“Hot out, huh?”

“Yeah. No point in beating up any of my nice shorts.”

“No.”

Now, Steve watched the muscles in Bucky’s thighs flex as he crouched down to apply a thin line of white paint to the hull of the rowboat. His fingers itched to run down the slight indentations, to touch that skin all the way up to the curve of Bucky’s ass.

As if he could feel Steve’s gaze, Bucky looked up and winked.

That fucker. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Steve huffed out a laugh. He’d missed this aspect of Bucky’s personality, the charming flirt who loved to tease. Well, two could play at that game.

Setting aside his sketchbook, Steve headed for the kitchen. That morning, while Bucky had been hauling his tools out of the storage shed, Steve had made some fresh lemonade, tinted pink with strawberries from the tiny kitchen garden. Now he searched the dish cabinet for his favorite cups, sturdy metal tumblers.

The 21st century had much to recommend it, and vacuum walled cups were one of his favorite things. You could hold hot coffee or ice cold lemonade without burning or freezing your hands. This pair had been a gift from Sam.

Tucking the tumblers in the insulated picnic basket, he added the fried chicken, coleslaw, and blackberry cobbler he’d made the day before, as well as a freezer pack. In the afternoons, while Bucky napped, Steve practiced cooking. He’d never been much of a cook before. He hadn’t had the time or the money to buy good ingredients, or anyone to cook for. Now, he had all three.

First, he’d cut apart a whole chicken from the organic farmer down the holler. Then he’d soaked the pieces in whole-fat buttermilk for 24 hours before swapping out the liquid for a salty brine with peppercorns, rosemary, thyme, parsley, and lemon slices. After brining the chicken for another day, he’d dried it off and then dipped each piece in buttermilk before dredging it in a mixture of flour, garlic powder, onion powder, and cayenne pepper. Last, he’d fried the chicken in vegetable oil before letting it rest on a rack in warm oven.

Yesterday evening, while Steve had been putting the finishing touches on dinner, Bucky had wandered down into the big main room in just his boxers, his hair a mess and his eyes still sleepy. As he’d pressed himself to Steve’s back and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist, Steve had closed his eyes and just breathed.

Now it was Steve’s turn to distract Bucky and he grinned in anticipation. Grabbing the insulated gallon thermos, he tucked it under one arm and picked up the picnic basket.

Making his way down to the sandy beach where Bucky was still patiently tracing the curve of the hull with a paintbrush, Steve set down the picnic basket and pulled out the tumblers. After filling one with the cool lemonade, he offered it to Bucky.

“Thirsty, sweetheart?”

Slowly, Bucky tilted his head to look back at him and Steve watched the pupils in Bucky’s eyes dilate.

“Forget your shirt, pal?”

“Nah, you just looked so comfortable, I thought I’d join you.”

Bucky snickered and stood, taking the lemonade.

“Yeah, you can join me, alright.”

Steve waited until Bucky had a mouthful of lemonade before he retorted, “I’d rather take you apart.”

The resulting spit take was a thing of beauty and Steve cackled as he ran down the dock, arching into a perfect dive with Bucky right behind him. Surfacing, he shook the water out of his face just as Bucky came up behind him.

“Punk!”

And they were off again, Steve diving down and eeling his way through the dark lake water, circling around Bucky and kissing his back before flipping over and down again. They played for long minutes and sometimes Bucky caught him with a kiss first, but Bucky would always tire faster. Even if he was healthy, the extra metal in his skeleton meant that he didn’t have as much endurance in the water as Steve.

So Steve let himself be caught, and instead of slipping away, he brought Bucky to him and kissed him thoroughly. Taking some of Bucky’s weight with his own body, he leaned back a little, inviting Bucky to rest on him, lazily kicking out to keep them moving. Gradually, he moved them to one of the giant black inner tubes floating on the lake, bringing Bucky up on his lap.

As they floated, Steve traced the lines of Bucky’s pecs before arching up and licking one of his dusky flat nipples. Bucky swallowed down a moan, but Steve heard it anyway, and moved to the other side, just as delectable. He knew Bucky could feel him, straining against his own swim shorts, sensitive to each shift of Bucky’s ass in his lap. Bucky ground down against him and Steve leaned back, letting Bucky take what he willed in the golden light of a summer afternoon.

Eventually they dozed a little. Steve tried to repress a giggle when he felt fish nibbling at his toes, but Bucky lifted his head from its comfortable spot on Steve’s shoulder.

“Wha?”

“Fish.”

“Huh. M’hungry.”

Shifting, Steve reached over the inner tube and half-assedly began paddling them back. Bucky was absolutely no help at all, beyond incentivizing Steve with little licks and nibbles on his collarbone. “I’ll eat you up!”

Laughing all the way, Steve did eventually get them to shore. “Fried chicken, doll.”

Slipping out of the inner tube, they rinsed off in the lake before falling on the picnic basket like starving men. Steve had made three chickens last night and the two of them finished off the last one for lunch. Steve hadn’t made any special coleslaw, but the way Bucky devoured it, he felt like he’d made haute cuisine. Finishing off their meal with the sweet blackberry cobbler, they fell silent, their full bellies making them slow and sleepy.

In an old knapsack, Steve had packed an old, soft quilt and pillow for just this purpose. “Nap?”

Bucky looked up at him, dark eyelashes shading his steel-blue eyes. His face was soft with pleasure, full lips reddened from the blackberry juice, and strands of red-gold hair had fallen into his face. Each strand lay delicately against his high cheekbones and Steve succumbed to the impulse to brush them away, running his thumb along Bucky’s soft skin.

Bucky leaned in and Steve gathered him against his chest. This was what he lived for, the sticky warmth of his happy husband in his lap and sunshine on his back. A well-fed, sleepy lover basking in a peaceful hideaway.

In a moment or two, he felt the subtle move that meant that Bucky had come to more alertness and he pulled back to press a kiss to his forehead.

“I found a beautiful spot in the woods. Want to see?”

Steve was still running in the mornings, but sometimes he liked to change it up and run cross-country, leaping across moss-covered fallen trees, and skipping over the tiny rivulets that fed the lake. In the dim green light of the forest understory, anything seemed possible. When he’d found a perfectly round bed of thick, bright-green moss, he hadn’t questioned it. Instead, he just wanted to share it with Bucky.

Now Bucky kissed his throat, something that always made Steve shiver. With a quiet laugh, Bucky flicked one of his nipples before answering, “Sure.”

Unfolding himself from Steve’s lap, Bucky stood and for a moment, Steve mourned. Then he, too, stood, and grabbed the knapsack, slinging it over his shoulder before reaching for Bucky’s hand.

“This way, hon.”

They walked silently, enjoying the rustle of the wind in the leaves and the surprisingly loud buzzing of insects. Brilliant emerald ferns had unfurled as summer had progressed, and Steve bent down to run a finger across one.

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

He lifted his eyes to see Bucky smiling at him, a tiny amused thing visible only by the crinkle of his eyes.

“Yeah, pal, I see something pretty alright.”

Deep red heat spread up Steve’s chest, making its way up past his collarbones, and then to his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck and stood, tugging Bucky to him. Unable to use his words, he used his body instead, softly kissing the corners of Bucky’s mouth, the sharp edges of his cheekbones, and the center of his forehead before ending with a little kiss to his nose.

Turning, he led the way to the dappled glen with the bed of moss. A bit of magic in the woods, just like the warm skin under his fingertips, the arch of Bucky’s spine under his lips, and the bitten off gasp as Steve licked a stripe down his back. Here in the deep woods, Steve pressed his nose to the nape of Bucky’s neck and bit down gently, tasting his skin. The fall of Bucky’s hair over his face filled his nose with the warm, herbal scent of his shampoo and something ineffably Bucky. Together, they moved, making their own spell.

Later that evening, they sat by the lake, watching the stars come out.

They’d gone fishing for their dinner again, catching four big rainbow trout. Steve had cleaned and gutted them before stuffing them with lemon slices, butter, dill, and garlic. Then he’d wrapped them in aluminum foil and set them on a grill that Bucky had managed to balance over the fire. Big baking potatoes rolled in damp salt crystals and then wrapped in aluminum had baked in the coals while Steve had put together a salad from the volunteer tomatoes and basil in the neglected kitchen garden and some fresh mozzarella they’d picked up at the monthly farmer’s market.

A down-valley breeze swept away the smoke from the embers of the fire and their stomachs were pleasantly full. Despite being shirtless in the cool evening air, Steve was warm where Bucky lay against his chest. Idly he thought that he’d happily stay just like this as long as he could, listening to the fish jump for insects in the twilight and watching the Milky Way begin to spill across the sky.

Unlike New York, this property was far enough out to be one of the few truly dark skies left on the East Coast. Steve saw stars he normally only saw on missions, where he simply used them for celestial navigation. Now he could appreciate their beauty. Red, green, blue, and yellow stars and galaxies spilled across the black velvet of the night sky like a dragon’s hoard.

Steve pressed a kiss to the soft curls that spilled across his chest and thought that he’d gladly give everything he had, all the jewels in his hoard, just to keep Bucky as safe and happy as he’d been this summer.

  
  
**Chapter 6: Summer Nights**

[Rascal Flatts - Summer Nights](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H3Q-LQQW6pA)

Steve lay awake in the cool morning light and watched his husband sleep. Bucky’s face was relaxed, a slight smile on his lips. His skin was deeply tanned from all the time spent outdoors, but there were no more dark circles under his eyes, no more grooves etched beside his mouth from the pain. Even the permanent furrow between his eyebrows had lessened.

Bucky’s hair had gotten so long over the summer that he and Steve had investigated hair braiding on YouTube. Now, Bucky sported two thin braids on each side, which helped keep the wisps out of his face. After a nightmare when his hair had wrapped around his neck, Bucky had decided he preferred to sleep with his hair both braided and pulled back, to keep it away from his neck as he slept. Secretly, Steve loved braiding Bucky’s hair, even when he insisted on hiding stilettos in the braids.

Steve and Bucky had expected the nights to be as warm as the days, sleeping with only a single sheet during the starlit nights. They’d been used to the heat island effect, when hot days were absorbed by the concrete and radiated out at night. Though the days were hot and humid, nights in the mountains were always cool and the huge window in the loft bed area was perfectly situated to catch the nighttime down-valley breeze. After the hottest day of June, Bucky had woken up with the shakes, a nightmare about cryo swirling in his mind. In response, Steve had tucked himself around Bucky to keep him warm, just as they’d done during the war.

From then on, they’d always made sure both the lightweight cotton blanket and the old fashioned double wedding ring quilt were folded neatly at the foot of the bed. Every night, Steve would wake with goose bumps from the drafts and reach for the blankets, covering them both. Mostly asleep, Bucky would curl into his arms and Steve would slip back into his dreams, comforted by the soft puffs of breath on his chest.

Now, Steve was content to watch Bucky breathe as rays of sunshine began to slide into the room. He longed for a sketchbook and his pencils, but he knew that if he moved, Bucky would wake. Bucky slept more lightly now that that he’d slept long and deeply over the summer, healing as he slumbered.

Some sleep had been lazy afternoon naps in the loft, skin sweat-slick after they made love. Other rests had been quiet cuddles in the hammock on the back porch, resting in the temporary break from the heat brought by summer thunderstorms while they listened to the rain drum on the tin roof. Steve’s favorites had been the long, deep dozes in the forest, Bucky draped over his chest as they slept on the moss in the light-spattered glade.

Steve smiled as he thought of the secret space in the woods, dark and deep. Never in a million years had he thought he’d find a magic circle with his lover at his side. Yet, find one they had, and Bucky had been all the better for it.

Sighing, Steve remembered that their summer escape was ending that day. The rest of the team and their people were coming down for a Labor Day cookout, hotdogs, hamburgers, and all. Steve had been prepping for the last few days, making potato salad and coleslaw, marinating pork for shish kebabs, and even trying his hand at salmon burgers for the pescatarians. He’d stocked up on baked beans, corn on the cob, zucchini, and watermelon, as well.

Bucky had been vastly amused, but he’d been too busy with his own project to tease Steve much. Just the day before yesterday, he’d finished painting the last layers of marine grade varnish on the now-repaired boat. It was a gorgeous piece of work. Bucky had painted the hull a glossy white, but opted to leave the gunwales and thwarts in the natural teak. The original oarlocks had been too damaged, and Bucky had ended up replacing them with bronze.

Steve had learned more about boats than he’d realized he’d needed to know, finding out that the “wooden rowboat” he’d bought Bucky was actually a teak wherry, with a 15 foot overall length. Restored to its former glory, it weighed about half of what Steve did, only 125 pounds. Though they didn’t have one, apparently it could handle a mast and sail. Bucky had seemed uninterested, happy to row them around the lake yesterday.

Naturally, they’d been goofing around, and Steve had ended up in the water. Steve was going to miss the clear, cool lake waters, even if the fish did enjoy nibbling on toes. Tenderly, he looked down at Bucky and found Bucky watching him.

“It’s OK, Stevie.”

Steve closed his eyes, feeling tears prick at his eyelids. Bucky had always seen too much.

Shifting, Bucky pulled his whole body onto Steve’s, holding himself up with the arm, using his free hand to trace the lines of Steve’s lips.

“Love you, sweetheart. No matter where or when we are, I will always love you.”

At that, Steve opened his mouth and licked at Bucky’s thumb before replying, “I’ll always love you, too. I just … Just want to stay here forever.”

“Nothing is forever, darlin’. Look.”

Bucky gestured out the window, where the trees were blowsy with their last gasp of greenery. Over the summer, they’d changed from a glimmering, almost opalescent green to a brilliant emerald in July and August. Now the trees were sagging, as the first weekend of September brought leaves of dusty jade.

“Soon they’ll change to red and gold and brown, and the first frost will come snappin' at the windows. And that’s OK. ‘For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.’ We’ve had our season of peace, Stevie.”

Steve took a long, slow inhale and then let it out slowly. Bucky was right, as usual.

Probably sensing that Steve’s distress had wound down, Bucky leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips before wiggling his eyebrows in invitation.

“We still have a little time, and I know just how I want to use it.”

Grinning, Steve leaned up, took Bucky in his arms, and rolled them over, so that Bucky was in the warm spot. Now they were pressed together from hip to toe, and Bucky made an involuntary whimper of delight, rocking his hips up. Steve dropped his head down, trailing kisses from Bucky’s earlobes down his jaw line and throat, nuzzling at the hollow there. Beneath him, Bucky shivered and the arm plates rippled. He was so terribly responsive to Steve’s caresses.

Lost in Bucky, Steve didn’t notice as sunlight crept up the wall, a magnificently sunny day finally spilling into the narrow valley.

In due course they stumbled out of bed and made their way to the shower, and then to breakfast.

While Bucky had read a sci-fi novel last night, Steve had prepped the dough and toppings for breakfast pizza. As they’d slept, the dough had done a very slow rise in the refrigerator. On his way to the shower, Steve had stopped in the kitchen where he'd begun preheating the oven and the oversized cast iron pizza pan.

Like the cat who’d got the cream, Bucky sipped hot cocoa while Steve rolled out the dough.

“Better make two, doll. I’m hungry.”

Glancing up at Bucky, Steve winked. “Already on it.”

True to his word, he made two pizzas, each with Parmesan, mozzarella, bacon, and eggs. As they came out of the hot oven, he sprinkled them with parsley, chives, scallions, and shallots, before cutting them both generous slices.

“Good?”

Mouth full, Bucky just rolled his eyes and swallowed before reaching for his orange juice. “Nice one, punk.”

Steve smirked. “I aim to please.”

Bucky opened his mouth for a retort when the distinctive buzz of a QuinJet filled the tiny valley.

“Shit. They weren’t driving down?”

Steve shook his head. “Can you imagine Pepper wasting that much time?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but conceded with a grudging nod. “Point.”

Together, they moved towards the back porch, where they saw Clint nailing the finicky landing on the one flat patch of grass in the entire valley. Behind the QuinJet, the dark lake reflected a cloudless sky, a brilliant blue that, had Steve taken a photo, would have been assumed to have been photoshopped. Instead, Mother Nature had bestowed a perfect late summer day upon them.

Bumping his shoulder, Bucky said, “Show time.”

The QuinJet door slid open and their friends began spilling out. Tony came first, of course, but he descended with solicitous hand under Pepper’s elbow. Tony was dressed in his usual casual clothing, jeans and band t-shirt, but Steve hadn’t known that Pepper owned cut off jeans and a baseball t-shirt.

“Steve! Bucky! You’re alive! I thought maybe you’d turned into nomads, roaming the Earth in search of worthy foes.”

Beside him, Pepper rolled her eyes. “What Tony means is that we’re glad to see you.”

Behind the couple came Clint and Natasha, clearly restraining themselves from lending an elbow to Phil, who was using the handrail as he came down the steep stairs. Clint was in his usual grotty tac pants and hacked off sleeveless tees, but Natasha was wearing a pretty sundress in a flowered print. Apparently, Phil owned a t-shirt and jeans too, although his jeans looked like they’d been ironed.

Completely unselfconscious, Clint looked up at Bucky, standing on the porch, and gave a nod. “Hey man. Looking good!”

Steve put a proprietary hand around Bucky’s waist, just in case. Bucky stifled a laugh, and leaned into Steve. “Feelin’ good. You up for some target shooting?”

His face shining with happiness, Clint gave two thumbs up. Natasha sighed, but she must have been expecting the invitation, because she reminded Clint, “Your target shooting bow is in your locker.”

More hesitantly, Bruce followed Phil, eyes taking in the neglected garden and skillfully rehabilitated wherry.

Last out, Sam gave a wide grin. “Steve! It’s been a while, man.”

Leaving Bucky’s side, Steve came down and gave Sam a hug. “Sam. I hear you’re keeping up with this bunch now.”

Nonchalantly, Sam shrugged. “I try.”

As the group dissolved into chatter, Steve stepped back and looked around at his friends. He’d missed all of them over the summer. From Bruce’s quiet wisdom to Natasha’s gruff assistance, they’d all become an inextricable part of his life. Looking up at the porch, where Clint perched on the wooden railing, hands moving rapidly as he and Bucky spoke in ASL, he realized that they’d become part of Bucky’s life, too.

Later that evening, everyone sat around a bonfire, the rippling heat from the dried hardwood driving back the chill of the mountain air. Behind them, the fish jumped for insects in the lake and the in the forest, the whip-poor-wills called. As usual, the nighttime breeze pushed the smoke further down the valley, leaving a comfortable seating area. Steve had pulled the Adirondack chairs off the porch for Natasha and Phil, while the rest of them sat on a collection of quilts and blankets.

“Aw, marshmallow, no.”

Just as Clint had lifted it to his mouth, the burnt marshmallow had slipped off the metal skewer, landing in the dirt. Reaching for the sticky marshmallow goop left on the skewer, Clint exclaimed, “Fuck!” He'd burnt himself on the hot metal.

Sighing in fond exasperation, Natasha dug in her purse for an antiseptic wipe and a Band-Aid. Next to her, Sam just shook his head and smiled.

Seated on Natasha’s other side, the corner of Phil’s mouth tipped up. Still in rough shape, he had brought a cane to navigate the uneven ground around the cabin and lake. Now he sat with it leaning against the chair, delicately nibbling at a s‘more that Clint had insisted he eat.

Used to Clint’s collection of scrapes and bruises, Steve huffed in silent laughter. In his lap, Bucky looked up at the movement of Steve’s chest, and grinned at Steve’s evident amusement.

Across the fire pit, Tony was teasing Pepper, whom he’d drawn into his lap as soon as they sat down. Tony had been particularly attentive to her that evening, and Steve wondered. But that was their business, and none of his.

Bruce had declined the marshmallows in favor of his herbs. Walking around the edge of the lake that afternoon, he’d picked a generous handful of mint that he’d infused into a sweet tea. Now he sat beside the fire, one leg extended, eyes closed and face tilted towards the warmth of the crackling fire.

Leaning back, Steve looked up at the stars. The Milky Way splashed across the night sky, running straight up for the southwest. To the east, the Moon and Mars were rising together, the seven sisters of the Pleiades shining brightly nearby. Below them, red eye of Aldebaran twinkled.

Comforted by the idea that the stars were there before he was born and would be there after he died, Steve hugged Bucky a little tighter. Though he might have been given more time than most, he would treasure every moment he’d been given with Bucky, because he knew their time was fleeting. He buried his face in Bucky’s braids, inhaling the insubstantial herbal perfume of his shampoo and the warmth of his body. Here, now, he could ask for nothing more.


End file.
